


Mouths to Feed

by amelia



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelia/pseuds/amelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor (9) takes Rose to see the elegant tech on Earth 5--but the Tardis malfunctions, they're kidnapped into a medical facility and find themselves strapped to machines, in compromising positions. (9/OC, 9/Rose)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since it's multi-chapter, this first chapter's a bit slow but picks up from here, with more action/smut/fun later on. This was originally posted on Teaspoon and an Open Mind. I made an attempt to actually write in british english, so let me know where I failed. 
> 
> **Warnings for later chapters:** forced stimulation, dubcon, dirty talk, breastfeeding/babyfic, OCs, doctor and rose whump! (The poor characters, how I like to torment them on occasion.)
> 
>  **Typical disclaimers apply:** None of the characters belong to me; they belong to the BBC and RTD. Not that you'd ever see this on telly.

The Tardis lurched to a halt with a _Thunk!_ , sparks flying from the control panels. Rose flinched, and the Doctor looked horrified. “My ship!” He dropped underneath the console to look at the damage.

“What’s happened?” Rose asked, watching him fumble around.

“A few circuits shorted—the hypermodulator’s in flux--I’ll have to string some new wires.” He pulled himself up to his feet and wiped his hands clean on a rag. “Oh well—I applied a temporary fix to the chameleon circuit. I’ll fix the rest of her later.”

“You sure? What if we need to get away fast?” Rose asked, scratching her neck nervously.

“She’ll fly,” he answered. He reached out his hand for hers. “Ready for a new planet?”

“What year’s this then?” she said, as she took his hand and linked their fingers together. 

“Four point nine billion, five hundred, twenty-three,” he announced, and then shrugged. “Give or take 200 years.”

Rose frowned. “Couldn’t you be more specific?”

“It’s Earth 5!” the Doctor continued. “Mecca of technology. Volcanoes that never explode. Their energy is harnessed into electricity, to power the whole world.” 

“Volcano electricity?” Rose asked.

“That’s right! Delivered by mushroom webs.” The Doctor beamed. “A network of mycelia growing just under the soil in all the continents.”

Rose pondered this. “Everything’s so clever in the future,” she grinned. “In my time, everyone’s afraid we’ll blow ourselves up or something.”

“You lot! You shoot yourselves in the foot but just keep running,” the Doctor grinned and tugged her arm. “Ready?”

She followed, and they walked out the door, squinting into the purple sky. “Are those hedges?” Rose asked, pointing to some blocks of colour rising from the ground.

“Oh yes!” the Doctor said. “There’s your vegetation. Blue, pink, brown? Must be some mineral from the soil, or trick of the light.”

“Right. And the road here’s blue!” They turned and walked down a gravel path. She kicked at some rocks and sent them clattering down the road, then squinted into the distance. Dome-like buildings rose out of the flat landscape ahead of them, in greenish mounds. 

“Not quite what I was expecting,” the Doctor muttered. 

Small creatures played nearby, running along like human kids. They jumped, climbed trees, and chased each other, shouting nonsense words. 

“And here’s our resident aliens. New species,” Rose said.

“They’re neo-post-human,” said the Doctor. “Evolved from you lot. Those are the children.”

Rose tried not to stare—their hair was blue or green, their skin green too, and their faces were almost human. A woman sat nearby, watching the children, and rocking a baby. She sang to it softly, and it was crying in her arms. 

“Most species couldn’t even tell the difference between you and them,” the Doctor continued. “To one of the Judoon or Daleks, we look just the same.”

“They’re just human enough, it’s creepy,” said Rose. “Though, their eyes are too close and their noses are too small.”

A woman started to walk by them, bouncing another fussy baby in the folds of her robe. She looked up at Rose as she walked by, with wide, yellow eyes. The woman stopped, staring at Rose’s blonde hair and light skin.

“You’ve been noticed,” the Doctor whispered in Rose’s ear.

The woman approached and murmured something. Rose smiled, looking down at the baby. “Who’s this?”

The woman held up the child, with its screwed-up little face from crying. It opened yellow, cat-shaped eyes and blinked. Rose stuck her tongue out and made a face, and the baby started to babble and wave its arms about.

“Strange,” murmured the Doctor. “I don’t understand him.”

“’Course not!” Rose said. “He’s just a baby.”

The woman thrust the baby forward into Rose’s arms. 

“You want me to hold her?” Rose gathered up the child and smiled.

“We can’t take any of those,” warned the Doctor.

“Oh, button it,” Rose told him, and introduced herself. “I’m Rose; this is the Doctor. Sorry for his rubbish manners.”

The woman smiled and pressed her palm to her chest. “Calla.”

“Hello, Calla,” nodded the Doctor. 

The baby pulled at Rose’s shirt, and she laughed and tried to hand him back to be fed. But Calla ignored the baby, took Rose’s arm, and started leading them down the street.

“Where are you taking us?” Rose asked. Calla just gestured in front of her, toward the domes nearby.

“Nice hedges, this planet,” the Doctor remarked. “And fantastic architecture. Very organic.”

Calla just kept walking.

“Not exactly friendly, is she?” Rose griped to the Doctor.

He shrugged. “No accounting for cultural differences.”

“Do you think she’s taken a vow of silence or something?”

“She said her name,” he shrugged. “This isn’t quite the buzzing hub of civilization I envisioned, but let’s see where she goes, shall we?”

But Rose was busy making faces and noises at the baby. “Huffabugabuh! Huffabugabuh!” 

The bundle squealed with happiness, as Calla shuffled ahead of them and led them past one of the domes. 

The building was really two stories, in a sage-green stone. Narrow windows were slit in the sides. 

Rose followed Calla inside, then stopped, staring in awe at the giant chandelier hanging like sea coral in the central hall.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose said. 

“It’s alive—part of the fungal structure,” the Doctor said. “Grows right through the buildings.”

“Alive?” answered Rose, but the Doctor and Calla were already disappearing into a room.

Rose hurried to catch up. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room—from a smaller coral lamp--she saw someone lounging in a chair, snoozing.

Calla walked up and rapped on a small table nearby, and the man jumped and opened his eyes, brushing blue hair from his face. They spoke, but it was all gibberish.

“What language is that?” Rose said, reaching out for the Doctor’s hand. “Why can’t I understand?”

“It’s a late version of English,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “I think the Tardis’ translation circuit went down.”

“I can understand _you._ ”

“I’m speaking 21st-century English!”

“Well, that’s something,” Rose muttered. “What’re we going to do?”

The man walked around, looking at them. Rose pushed the baby back into Calla’s arms, and to her relief, the woman accepted the bundle with a smile. 

“Mumbledy uffledy skunk,” said the strange man. He pointed to himself. “Arshad.”

“Arshad,” Rose nodded. She pointed to herself and the Time Lord. “Rose and the Doctor.”

“Canna laddie amble foo?” the man asked.

“We’re just visitors,” the Doctor tried to reassure him. “Here to help.”

He winked at Rose. “Hope I haven’t just said we were willing slaves.”

“I’ll skin you alive, you bloody alien,” she hissed at him.

Arshad continued to examine them, and Rose realised she must look wild in her pink mini-skirt and white tank top, next to their long robes in muted colours. Even the Doctor was looking at her, and she could feel him mentally comparing their clothes, his gaze wandering up her legs. She tried not to shift and fidget.

Finally Arshad nodded and spoke to Calla. He went to the door and shouted something. Another bloke came in. His face was grim and his hair pulled back in a braid around his head.

Calla didn’t introduce him, just beckoned Rose and the Doctor to the door. 

“Must be the welcoming committee,” Rose said.

“Barrel of laughs,” answered the Doctor as they stepped out of the room, back in the bright hallway, then down another dim corridor. Arshad and the other bloke followed close behind them.

“What are they up to?” said Rose, getting nervous. 

“No idea, but I’ve got to fix the Tardis,” the Doctor said. He turned to break away, but the men were behind them, blocking his way. “Apologies for the sudden change of plans!” 

He struggled but Arshad gripped his arm and pulled him aside. 

“I’m not leaving you, Rose,” the Doctor called. But the men were already between them.

Rose realised she was being led down a separate corridor with Calla by her side. Calla smiled and spoke to her, and seemed friendly still.

“I’ll find you later!” Rose called back to him, and reached out to examine the baby’s tiny fingers and continue making faces at it. 

The Doctor tended to be over-protective, but she wasn’t too worried. 

Besides, if they really tried to keep Rose and the Doctor apart—well, they didn’t know the Doctor, did they?


	2. Chapter 2

Calla ushered Rose into a room with a few armchairs and set the baby down in a cot nearby, in colourful blankets. Rose looked around. The room had a sink and cupboards, and felt like a baby’s nursery, yet otherwise was sparse as a medical room.

Calla turned around and rummaged in the cabinets, and another woman came in the room. She spoke to Calla, and then took Rose’s hand. Her palm was colder than Rose expected. 

“Hello,” Rose said. 

The woman, like Calla, had yellow eyes and green skin. Blue hair stood frizzy around her shoulders. Calla turned around from the cupboards, and introduced them, “Rose, Samara. Samara, Rose.”

“Uffledy skunk,” Samara told Rose, squeezing her fingers.

“Uffledy skunk?” Rose repeated, recognizing the phrase from earlier.

Samara laughed and nodded, squeezing her hand. Then quick as a moth, Calla reached down and jabbed a needle into Rose’s inner elbow.

“Hey!” Rose watched her blood inflate a balloon-like vial, as Samara gripped her palm. It happened too quickly to pull away, and then Calla pulled the needle from her arm. She handed the vial to Samara, who dropped Rose’s hand and opened another cupboard nearby.

“Wait, you can’t!” Rose tried to protest. “You can’t do this!” A draft blew across her body from the refrigerator, and then she noticed too late as Calla stuck her with another needle.

Rose gasped with a bit of pain and started to feel dizzy. She tried to move, to run, but instead her head dropped to the edge of the chair. Calla spoke quietly to her, stroking her arm, as Rose lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut commences.

Rose awoke feeling woozy. A breeze brushed lightly across her body, and her chest felt sore and feverish. “Doctor?” she murmured, struggling to consciousness.

She was slumped in a chair, but when she moved, something yanked at her chest and restrained her wrists. She groaned in pain and forced her eyes open.

Her wrists were bound to her chair. She was sitting topless, and her skirt had ridden up her thighs. Some machine with tubes, clips, and a fan were clamped to her breasts, rubbing them in circles. She moaned, and dizziness washed over her.

The Doctor’s voice cut through the fog. “Rose,” he said, low and urgent. “Wake up.”

She tried to find him, but at first saw only wires and tubes in front of her. Her eyes flickered over the bare tile floor, the sink in the corner, and the closed door.   
A few feet away, more machinery hummed and wobbled. As her vision cleared, she saw her Doctor strapped into the machine. 

He stood shirtless, his arms bound above him. Tubes and fans thrummed around his chest. She shuddered at the sight of him, watching her intently. A line of curly hair led down from his navel to his trousers—which were unbuttoned, half unzipped, and hanging open. 

“Doctor, what’s happened?” she tried to say, but her syllables slurred.

The machine was stroking her, rhythmically pulling at her breasts. Her eyes fluttered shut. Involuntarily, she imagined the Doctor’s mouth on her nipples, his tongue licking a regular rhythm against her.

She tried to pull back to reality, opening her eyes. The Doctor was watching her. His hands balled into fists as he fought to break his bonds. His eyes were so blue and so concerned. “All right?” he asked.

“I’m, er,” she stuttered. She traced his muscled arms, his curved shoulders, and the trails of hair on his chest with her eyes. His stomach tensed as he breathed. The little curls below his navel quivered. “Doctor.” She felt a rush between her legs and her inner muscles clenched involuntarily. How very, very wet she was. 

She fought the urge to buck her hips against the chair. The machine at her chest was teasing her, but she couldn’t give in—the Doctor was watching. She put her tongue to her lips and tried to calm down.

“Rose! Talk to me.”

She swallowed, and her voice creaked, “What the bloody hell happened?”

“Not sure,” he answered. “I’ve been here for hours. They brought you in maybe an hour ago and attached those tubes.”

“Yeah,” she said. The machine was still massaging tight circles around her nipples. They felt impossibly swollen and sensitive, and she wondered when they might go numb. 

“Rose—you all right?”

She opened her eyes again, blinking at the machinery. “Yeah,” she started to talk. “It feels—er—” She wasn’t sure whether to say it hurt, or felt _good_.

“I know,” the Doctor said, saving her from her own sentence. 

She dropped her gaze away from him and the machines, and she noticed his trousers slipping down around his hips. She thought she saw a bulge in his boxers peeking through. She looked away, trying to clear her head. “They’re experimenting on us?” 

“Could be,” he said. “Or trying to milk us.”

“What?!”

“Mammary gland stimulation,” he said. “With tubes to collect lactic fluid.”

“Breast milk?” she translated. “You can’t be serious.”

“Even human men can milk, with enough stimulation. Bet you didn’t know that.” He winked—even now, looking proud of himself. 

Rose frowned at the floor. “Why would they?”

“Didn’t that baby look hungry?”

“Maybe they can’t make any themselves?” she considered.

“Yeah,” he answered, with something like a shrug. “I don’t have my screwdriver. Your turn to have the clever plan.”

Rose tried to think. “Closed metal door. Plugged into machines—rubbing me. Half undressed.” She turned her face away from him, feeling exposed. “It’s too much.”

“Let’s just skip the embarrassment,” he said. “There’s a sink, some towels. No vents or windows.”

Rose groaned. Warmth radiated from her sore nipples--how tender they were! Then she couldn’t help it—she bucked her hips, rubbing her thighs together to relieve that tight, wet sensation. “If I could just—”

“We’ll find a way out of here,” the Doctor tried to reassure her, glancing back her way. But his voice was husky, not quite himself. 

Rose pulled against the bonds chafing at her wrists. She tried to shift her weight in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. But she just ended up thrusting her hips forward with her legs spread.

Her nipples pinched in the machine, stinging for a moment, and she whimpered. “Oh!”

“It’s just a side effect, Rose.” The Doctor tried to sound calm, but his voice was a low growl. “Sexual arousal—it’s a side effect.” 

He yanked at his chains harder than ever, but couldn’t budge them. He panted, watching her again. With her legs spread, she realised he could see right down her skirt. She looked back without flinching. 

His nostrils flared. He could smell her, too. She wasn’t the only one experiencing side effects. “I wish I could release you,” he said.

“We’ll find a way, like you said,” she answered. “Wait, do you mean—?”

“Give you relief. Release. Get you out of here. Get you _off._ ”

Rose’s breath left her in a ragged sigh. She stared at the Doctor. He started dancing--thrashing at his chains, throwing the full force of his body into getting free. Rose noticed that his flies had come completely unzipped, and his trousers were slipping off. “Watch out!” she tried to warn him.

It was too late. His trousers slipped around his knees, baring muscled thighs. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Definitely in this together,” he said through gritted teeth.

He wore boxer-briefs. Black. Tight around his hips. Rose could see the perfect outline of his sex. “Doctor, you’re—” She pulled her eyes away. 

“Oh, yes!” he interrupted. 

The cool breeze from the fan brushed her thighs, sending a shiver up her stomach. She shuddered.

“Rose Tyler, you are a sight!” 

“You’re one to talk,” she laughed. 

“Try something else. Try to relax,” he said, shutting his eyes. 

Rose couldn’t tell if he was talking to her or himself. She closed her eyes and felt the machine pulling on her. Her hair felt plastered against the sides of her face. 

She let herself settle into it, feeling the pain and warmth rush down to her thighs, and up her spine into her skull. She shivered. Her nipples were still being massaged, raw and swollen. She tried to shift her weight again. She felt the slick vinyl of the chair brush her bum and her thighs, sending another shiver up her spine.

Rose bucked her hips again, involuntarily, and arched her back to rub her wet slit against the seat. Then she wished for his mouth, pulling on her nipples. She wished he could slide his thick fingers inside her. She opened her eyes. He was watching her with his mouth open. He’d given up trying to break free and was just—staring at her.

“Doctor,” she groaned.

“Yeah?”

She closed her eyes. “I’m going to—I’m going to—”

“Don’t pass out,” he said, his voice level and firm. “Stay with me.”

She smiled and let her eyes flutter open. He’d judged her so wrong. “I’m going to come,” she sighed.

His eyes widened, and it was his turn to moan. “You want to do that, here?”

She wished she could rest her hands on his hips and drop soft kisses on his tight stomach, then slide her hands underneath the soft fabric that covered him. 

“Sort of. Yeah,” she said.

“Oh, Rose,” he uttered a sound at the back of his throat. He shifted his weight, moving his hips as if he wanted to press them against her. “Will it help?”

“Yeah. Doctor?” 

“What?”

“Talk dirty to me.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yes.” She let herself look at him, his perfectly sculpted arms, his tensed stomach, his firm legs, and his sex, standing at attention for her.

“Please,” she added. The thrill washed over her like a sort of relief, and she let another soft moan escape her lips.

She saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. He knew he was on display, and he looked back at her intently, his gaze dropping to her thighs. “You sound--" he started. He stopped and looked at her. He looked a little terrified. She gave him a little nod of encouragement. 

He started again. "Rose. You sound incredibly sexy,” he continued. “Want to hear you moan all over the Tardis. You’re so beautiful right now, Rose. You don’t even know.”

“That’s sweet,” she grinned. “Talk _dirty_ to me, Doctor.”

He nodded and his voice turned raspy. “I want to walk right over there and yank your hair back off your neck. Bite your shoulders. Roll your nipples under my tongue.”

Rose whimpered. “Yeah.” That was what she needed. His voice rolling over her. She gave in to the sensation playing at her nipples, and kept pushing against the seat beneath her. 

His trousers had pooled at his ankles, and he kicked them aside. “I’ve been watching you get wet. I could take you right here, against that wall.” He pointed with his chin to the wall near her.

She saw his cock twitch in his pants. “More,” she moaned.

“Rose, I can smell you. Right now. I want to put my nose right up against your thighs and lick you.”

Rose heard the desire in his voice, matching the heat between her legs. She bucked faster against the chair, feeling slick and wet. Her breath was coming in soft moans, filling the room. “Want your mouth,” she told him.

His voice was a low growl. “I want to push inside you with my tongue. Taste you.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Her pitch was rising. She was getting so close.

“Thrust my fingers inside you. Want to make you come.”

She let out another long moan and pushed her hips in the air, spreading her legs wide. He could see all of her now. Her creamy thighs. Her swollen clitoris, her glistening crevice widening, wanting his cock. 

She felt him watching. He groaned along with her. His cock twitched in his pants, with his hips thrust toward her. If there was any way he could bridge the distance between them, she knew he would be taking her now—pressing her against the wall and sliding inside her with long, deep, hard strokes. Her nipples were so hot, still being plucked and massaged, and she was coming. The relief washed over her in long waves, and she moaned louder than ever. 

“Doctor,” she breathed, and let the sensation carry her.

“Oh, Rose.”

When she came back to the room and their situation, she was more sore and sticky than ever, but her head was clearer. The Doctor was worse off. His body gleamed with sweat, and he was still aroused. He had dark eyes like the Oncoming Storm.

Her muscles were tight inside, still clenching. “Doctor, I want to taste you, too.”

“Skip it,” he said. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“Right.” Rose nodded, swallowed and looked away. 

Something about his words, his voice made her uncomfortable suddenly. What had she just asked him to do? When they were already bound here? Already forced into a difficult situation. Had she forced him? “Oh, god,” she said. She looked at the wall—breathing heavy again but for all different reasons. She looked around in a sudden panic, anywhere but at him. 

“You okay, Rose? That’s what you wanted?”

She nodded, but she couldn’t look at him. “Just not the way I wanted this, Doctor.” 

“I can take you home when this is over,” he said. “If you never want to look at me again, I understand.”

“No, Doctor, I should never have asked you to–”

“I should have checked that damned translation circuit.”

“Yeah,” Rose breathed. She relaxed and lifted her eyes back to him, with a little smile. They were both full of apologies for each other—if they weren’t tied up, and naked, and awkward, she could have laughed. 

He clenched and unclenched his jaw and yanked at his bonds again. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he told her. “Stupid ape!”

Rose frowned and gritted her teeth. He was losing control, but she didn’t know how to help him.

“Think, Doctor,” she admonished him. “We got to concentrate on getting out of here. We’ll deal with _us_ later. When we’re safe.”


	4. Chapter 4

“If I could unclasp those levers with my teeth,” the Doctor was saying, “I might get free—or just rip my own face off.”

The door creaked open, and Calla and Samara walked in. They talked quietly to each other and to Rose and the Doctor.

“Let us go!” Rose tried to sit up and struggled against the bonds at her wrists. 

Calla wet some rags in the sink, and approached Rose cautiously, still talking. Samara approached the Doctor the same way. 

“They’re the ones who drugged me earlier,” Rose told the Doctor. Then Calla was leaning over and rubbing the cold washcloth over Rose’s forehead. It felt like relief against her feverish skin. She sighed into it.

“They hurting you, Rose?” the Doctor’s voice carried over to her.

“No,” she murmured. “It’s good.”

She opened her eyes and looked over to him. The other nurse—Samara--was towelling down his forehead and his stomach. He groaned now. Rose saw Samara running the washcloth over his stomach. She hesitated as she realised he was aroused. 

Rose watched through half-hooded eyes, as Samara said something, and then moved to touch him.

The Doctor hesitated and pulled his hips away, looking the nurse in the eye. She motioned. Through just a look, they agreed somehow. He nodded, swallowed, and pushed his hips closer to her hands.

Rose watched as Samara trailed her fingers down his stomach and started stroking his sex. The Doctor grunted, “Oh!” He shut his eyes, threw his head back toward the ceiling, and muttered some raspy words, probably in Gallifreyan.

“Doctor,” Rose breathed.

“It’s all right, Rose.”

She turned her head away, “I won’t look.” 

“Not a time for modesty,” he told her. He groaned, louder.

Calla was still rubbing down Rose’s arms, her legs, and between her thighs. Rose moaned, and Calla drew her hands away, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes cast down.

The Doctor started to groan in the back of his throat, and the noise echoed through the room. Rose’s eyes flew back to him. Samara was stroking him in earnest, one hand around his testicles and the other rubbing fast against his sex.

But his gaze locked on Rose. “It’s just you I’m thinking of, Rose. Just you.”

He thrust against Samara’s hands, yanked at his chains, and cursed loudly as he came. Samara tried to hold his sex and back away from him at the same time. Her face was set in an emotionless mask.

The Doctor finally gasped in relief, and let his body sag against his bonds. Samara wiped him off with the washcloth and moved to wash it in the sink. 

Rose glanced at Calla—despite her flushed cheeks, she was ignoring the show, adjusting Rose’s machine. Suddenly the pressure around Rose’s breasts eased up. Calla deftly moved her hands to unclasp the levers surrounding her, and Rose felt her breasts hanging, throbbing against her chest.

Calla rubbed the washrag against her—rough and cold. Rose groaned and squirmed again—it hurt, and felt like relief at the same time. Finally Calla set the rag on Rose’s forehead and let her lean back into the chair.

“Thank you,” Rose said hoarsely.

Calla nodded, and released Rose’s wrists from the chair. Feeling dizzy, Rose looked over to the Doctor. He was watching her, even as Samara had pulled on his trousers and was zipping up his flies.

“They let me free, Doctor,” Rose whispered. “I’m going to pass out now.”

“You’ve got to stay awake,” he said, but by then she was unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose awoke to the smell of clean sheets. She rolled over and eased out of bed, and scratchy fabric fell around her. 

The nurses must have dressed her in one of their robes and left her to sleep. Her wrists felt bruised and the skin was raw from the straps. As she stood up, her breasts hung sore and heavy, and she cringed. 

At least she felt alert and focused again. The drugs had worn off. Her room was small, with pale grey walls. She shuffled over to the door, and opened it to an empty corridor. Voices chattered down one end, so she walked the other direction. Her feet were bare, the tile cold and gritty beneath her. 

She passed several other doors, all standing open. An older man with the same green skin and blue hair lay in a bed, with something like an I.V. strapped on his arm. A child was playing in another room on the floor, humming to himself. 

Rose kept walking, and the corridor widened into a little room—a reception area or nurse’s station. There were seats and a desk with a computer screen perched on top of it. The surface was covered in a pile of odd tools and gadgets. 

She slid open the desk drawers. No clothes. She shuffled through papers, written in a strange alphabet, and through tools of various shapes. No clues to where the Doctor might be. But maybe there was a weapon she could use. She grabbed at something shiny--the sonic screwdriver. 

“Thank God,” she murmured. She turned it over in her hands—its polished steel and round, blue tip seemed so familiar and comforting. It was their key, their ticket out. Elated, she tucked it within her robe and cinched her belt tight around it. 

She looked around again. There were no cabinets or cupboards where their clothes might be, just the desk and tools. 

She touched the computer screen, and it came to life with a hum and glow. The image of an island appeared, surrounded by icons and symbols. 

“Find me the Doctor,” she whispered. She pressed something that loaded lists and tables, written in the same curly, foreign alphabet.

Footsteps clattered down the corridor, startling her, and Rose rushed in the other direction down the corridor. Her breasts bounced under the robes, aching, and she felt wetness on her chest.

“Oh, my god,” she whispered, clutching at herself as she ran, feeling the milk leaking from her breasts. “Doctor, you’d better know how to fix this!”

But the Doctor could still be locked in that room, tied up to machines himself—and this was probably beyond his expertise. Rose stumbled into a doorway and stopped to catch her breath. 

A baby was crying, and she looked in. Samara and Calla were standing there in the room, and they saw her before she could turn away.

Rose turned to run, but Samara was faster. She rushed to the door and grasped Rose’s arm. 

“Rose!” she said, with some other words, and pulled her into the room.

Rose looked around warily. Calla was cradling the baby, and feeding it from some kind of leather pouch. There was a third woman, holding a second infant. Samara spoke to them. 

“What the hell’s going on?” Rose demanded. “I’ve got to find the Doctor!”

Calla nodded. “The Doctor,” she repeated in a heavy accent. Then she kept speaking in her language and held out the baby.

Samara reached to touch Rose’s arm, then her breast. 

Rose pulled away. “Don’t you touch me!”

But Samara kept talking, her voice reassuring and calm. Rose hesitated, trying to figure out what was going on. It was too late to run. 

Calla lifted out the baby out to her. Samara gently grasped the front of Rose’s robe. 

“You want me to feed it?” Rose took a step back. “First, you tie me to a machine, and then expect me to nurse!” 

Of course they did, she thought. The little bundle was fussing in earnest now, kicking its legs and screwing up its face. The whimpering noise held Rose in place, calming her instinct to run. 

“All right,” she conceded. “Can’t believe I’m doing this!” She reached out and took the infant from Calla, guiding it to her breast. 

She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought. The Doctor had warned her—his words came back to her now: “ _trying to milk us,_ ” he’d said. At least this part didn’t involve straps and tubes.

“Oy!” Rose gasped as the infant clamped its mouth around her. Silence fell around the room again, to everyone’s relief, as the infant started to suckle at her instead of shriek.

Samara spoke quietly again and reached down to stroke Rose’s breast, getting the milk flowing. Pain surged through her, and she let out a shriek of her own. But the pressure eased up in her. 

Whatever they wanted, it wasn’t to hurt her. Rose looked at the little one’s face, not quite human. She was torn between affection and disgust at it. 

If only the Doctor had fixed his bloody translator! Maybe they could have solved the problem without making her their nursemaid.

“Drink up,” Rose told the baby. “The Doctor’s going to come rescue us. We’ll think of something.” She kept her eyes on the infant, and let the nurses watch her.

But before the child was done, Samara reached out and gently lifted it from Rose’s arms. Rose tried to resist, but she saw Calla was already holding out the other baby for its turn.

Rose let the first child go, and let Calla move the second infant to her other breast. 

“Right,” Rose whispered. They needed to balance the milk flow, to pull from both sides. 

The little one latched onto her, and Calla stroked her breast, pushing the milk through evenly. Rose gritted her teeth and didn’t shriek this time. Samara had lifted the first child into the other woman’s arms, and then started rearranging Rose’s robes. 

Rose wanted to push away their invasive hands and run to find the Doctor. But she couldn’t run without getting stopped, and she was feeling drowsy again. She didn’t have the energy to try to get away. 

The other woman, now holding her child, was crying with relief that her baby was fed. She leaned over to hug Rose. 

“She’ll be all right,” Rose said, awkwardly, patting her back as well as she could. 

The woman nodded, then leaned in to hug Calla, and then she left. Rose was alone with the nurses. She looked down at the baby, watching it suckle at her. “Hey,” she murmured to it. “At least if I’m kidnapped on a planet, I’m doing something _good._ ” 

Looking at the cat-shaped eyes, the greenish skin, she thought the baby must be the same infant she’d first held when they arrived on the planet. 

She looked back up and found Calla had perched on a stool nearby, with Samara standing beside her. Calla squeezed Samara’s hand, letting their fingers linger together, as they watched Rose nurse.

Rose thought of many times she’d stood with the Doctor, just that way--hand in hand, with relief from their adventures flooding over them. She let the baby nurse a few minutes, then gently eased the infant off her and set him down in one of the cots nearby. 

Samara tucked a blanket around the baby, and Rose stood up. “Samara and Calla,” said Rose, pointing to them. And she pointed to herself. “Rose and the Doctor.”

Samara and Calla looked at each other and their cheeks darkened—probably the closest thing to a blush they could manage. Samara looked down, but Calla nodded and beckoned Rose to the door. 

“The Doctor,” she repeated, leading Rose out of the room and down the corridor.

Behind them, Samara began crooning to the baby. 

Calla didn’t look at Rose as they walked. Rose wondered if she’d embarrassed them. Was she right in thinking they were partners, or even lovers? 

But it didn't matter--it had worked, hadn’t it? 

She hoped Calla really was taking her to find the Doctor.


	6. Chapter 6

Calla led Rose down a darkened passage, and the whirr of machines grew louder. Calla opened a door, and inside, Rose saw the bare walls and the machines--and the Doctor, strapped to the chair.

The machines still whirred at his chest. His head hung down to his shoulder, and his face was drenched in sweat. His eyelids fluttered. He lifted his head as they entered the room. His voice was low, pained, calling for her though he couldn’t see her. “Rose?”

“Doctor,” Rose flew over to him, grasping his knee. He looked but couldn’t focus on her. She felt panicked, and she turned to find the controls to shut the machine down. Anything to get him out of there. 

“What’s happening?” he asked, slurring his words. They must have drugged him, she thought.

“Hold on,” she told him. She darted her eyes across the buttons and levers on the machine but couldn’t find a way to shut it down.

Calla moved to the sink, rinsing a washrag, and started rubbing down the Doctor’s forehead and arms. He groaned into the sensation, and Rose shivered. 

She stared at the machine helplessly, growing angry at Calla for touching him, for tormenting him. “Calla!” she demanded. “How do I make it stop?”

Calla looked over, a question on her face. 

“Turn off this machine,” Rose insisted. “Now!”

The nurse pursed her lips and looked uncertain, but she finally walked over and flipped a switch. The machine sputtered to a halt. 

Rose let out her breath in relief. “Thank God.” 

She rushed back to the Doctor and looked down into the mass of tubes and clips and wires around him, trying to disentangle him. “I don’t know what to do!”

“Unclip the levers—“ he said, but Calla was already moving, darting her fingers around, releasing him.

A wave of nausea washed through Rose’s stomach as she stood and watched. All the panic and anger were still in her throat, and she felt her hands trembling. As soon as the Doctor was free, Rose reached in and pushed the apparatus away from his body. All the adrenalin and anger moved through her, and she flung it all toward Calla. The whole machine squeaked and rolled toward the nurse. 

Calla shrieked and backed away as the mass of tubes struck her arm, and the machine hit the wall near her with a thud.

“Serves you right!” Rose shouted.

Calla clutched the arm that had been hit and retreated toward the door. 

“Rose!” the Doctor distracted her. He swallowed, his voice hoarse. “My wrists.” 

Rose reached down to unstrap his arms from the chair. She heard the door slam behind them. Calla had run from the room. 

Once the Doctor was free, Rose spun around, but the door wouldn’t open. She pounded her fist against the metal. “Calla! Stupid cow, let us out!”

No one answered, but the noise of her footsteps retreated back down the corridor.

“It’s just us, then,” the Doctor said, his voice cracking. Rose returned to his side and picked up the rag that Calla dropped. 

“Stay still,” she murmured, as he moved to get up. She ran the cool rag over his face and shoulders, watching his eyelids drop again and his fingers grip his knees.

As she approached his collarbone, his eyes flickered open again and he put one hand over hers. “Stop.”

His palm felt cold, clammy against the back of her hand. Rose flicked her tongue against her lips nervously. He took the rag from her hand and gripped it tightly. 

She put her hand on his shoulder. “You all right?” she asked. 

He breathed deep and closed his eyes for a moment. Rose ran her eyes across him. Red and purple bruises were blooming around his ribs and nipples, and his wrists were chafed raw, too. She felt herself shiver. What had these people done to him?

She pressed her fingers into his shoulder. “Doctor, answer me. Don’t pass out.” 

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Then he launched himself from the chair, as if he couldn’t stand her examining him. He tossed the rag in the sink and started pacing the perimeter of the room.

“We’ve got to get my screwdriver, then get to the Tardis. What have we got to work with?” 

Rose grinned, relieved to see him moving, thinking, talking like usual. “I found you a little something,” she said, reaching into her robe for his screwdriver. 

“Fantastic! What’d you find?”

He stared at her, her hands moving under her robe. “Rose, I don’t think—“

She felt wetness on her arm, and realized her breasts were almost popping out of the gown. She felt her flush rise to her cheeks and she turned her back to the Doctor. “Hold on.” 

“Er, got milk?” he asked.

Turned away from him, she pulled out the screwdriver from the fabric. Her breasts hung heavy, leaking slightly. “Yeah,” she said, trying to laugh. “I do.” 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It should stop on its own.”

She readjusted the robe and secured it tightly with the belt. “God, I hope so.” Then she turned back around, holding out the screwdriver with a smile. “I got this, too.”

His face lit up. “My screwdriver!” He plucked it from her palms, twirled it around in his hands, then turned around himself and aimed it for the wall opposite the door.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at her. 

“For what?”

“Sublimating and ionizing the wall’s molecular structure,” He reached out for her hand. “I’m blasting open that wall.”

Her eyes went wide, and she took his hand, letting him grip her fingers and pull her closer.

“We’ll be able to walk through to the other side,” he explained.

“Walk _through_ the wall?”

“Yeah--Rose, if we have to run, can you make it?”

“Can try. You’ve got to fix the Tardis,” she said. “I’ll hold them off.”

The Doctor nodded, then flicked a switch on his screwdriver. An electric shriek pierced the room. The wall seemed to open, first a seam of darkness, splitting into a black, webbed crevice—with a sound of galoshes squelching through mud.

“Quickly,” the Doctor said, moving her in front of him, one hand on her hip and his breath on her ear.

The door thundered behind them and Calla’s voice shouted on the other side. The hole in the wall was growing to the size of a person.

The Doctor pressed Rose into the wall. “Go!”

She moved forward, his warmth pressing up close against her. The slimy web wrapped around them, smelling of soil and mushrooms. 

Rose waded through it, feeling it cling and stick to her arms and legs. Her feet sank in the swampy plasma. She closed her eyes. 

His body, sinuous and firm, guided her forward. She could feel the movement of his thighs pressing against her bum, his chest on her back, his fingers clutched on her hip. He kept blasting the screwdriver over her shoulder. 

The hair on his forearm brushed her cheek. She turned her face into him, his warmth and musk and sweat, as she pushed herself forward into the wall. She could feel him burying his face in her hair as they both struggled to breathe. There was no oxygen. 

Behind them through the crevice, they heard a door open and Calla’s voice shrieking.


	7. Chapter 7

Finally from the darkness of the walls, they fell through to another corridor. Rose stumbled out and the Doctor pressed up behind her, curving one arm around her stomach to steady her. The whirr of his screwdriver echoed and faded on the tile and glass around them. 

She coughed and panted, and blackness floated in front of her eyes. As she caught her balance, she twined her fingers in his and took deep, dizzy breaths of the clean air until her vision recovered. Finally Rose was able to look around. They were alone--no one chased them--all was quiet. 

She turned back to the Doctor and ducked her cheek into his collarbone in a quick hug.

He sunk his head into her hair and his arms were steady around her shoulders. “I’m getting you out of here." She felt his chest rise and fall. Then he moved, sweeping into a run, his thighs brushing hers in a way that made her ache. As they ran down the corridor, she heard other footsteps pounding on the tile floor. Rose glanced over her shoulder to see the two guards--Arshad and another man. 

“I’ll hold ‘em off!” Rose let go of the Doctor’s hand. 

He didn’t argue, just kept running. Her eyes scanned the walls, but there was nothing she could throw or use to block the way between them and the guards. 

“I’ll find you!” the Doctor's promise echoed, as he disappeared down another corridor. 

“Don’t be late,” she said, mostly to herself, as the guards kept advancing toward her. They grabbed her wrists, not gently. “Let go!” she yanked at them, but it was useless.

They pulled her in the other direction down the corridor, and Calla came around the corner. Rose was led back through the corridor, up and down stairs, and around, until they pushed her back in the room she’d woken up in. 

Calla blocked the doorway, her arms crossed, her face upset. Arshad guarded the door, standing outside and facing away.

Her body heavy and tired, Rose sat back down on the bed. “I might as well stay here, then,” she said. “Thanks for the hospitality.”

She heard Calla sigh and her soft footsteps walking away. So she was alone with the guard. Rose dropped onto the mattress, exhausted. Her body was aching and dirty from squelching through the wall. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t save the Doctor. She hoped to Hell he’d escaped.


	8. Chapter 8

A woman’s murmured voice woke Rose a while later and she realized she'd drifted to sleep. Now she pried her eyes open, and Calla was standing by the foot of the bed, set something down, then left again. 

Rose pulled herself up and found Calla had left a folded pile of fabric. It turned out to be a clean robe--something for her to change into. She was filthy from the wall. Her room was still guarded by the man—Arshad—but he had returned to staring the other direction, so Rose at least had some privacy. 

She stepped over to the sink and peeled off the dirty robe still clinging to her skin. She wet a rag and tried wiping her legs and arms clean. With a sense of relief, she then pulled the clean robe over her head. 

She was captive, kidnapped, but in some small way, at least they were trying to make her comfortable. Before she could settle back fully on the bed, Calla returned, holding another baby. She stood at the foot of the bed, bouncing the baby, murmuring, and watching Rose. 

Rose’s anger had died down, and she just felt sad and tired. “What am I, your dairy cow?” she muttered. 

Still, she had nothing better to do. She suspected that nursing might relieve that soreness in her breasts. So, with a sigh she leaned forward and reached for the infant.

Calla watched carefully as Rose picked up the child, fumbled with her robe, and lifted the baby to her exposed breast. Its gums pressed around her, and her body tingled as the milk began to flow.

Calla settled in next to her, perched at the edge of the bed, and began to sing in a soft voice. Rose thought the tune sounded familiar and began humming along. Calla smiled as she heard Rose’s voice join her.

Then Rose felt a shift in her mind and shook her head, disoriented. She leaned back, listening as Calla sang:

_Baby, won’t you drink this milk that’s good,  
the way all little children should.  
Soon you’ll have a dress of white,  
and soon you’ll fill your appetite.  
_  
“Calla," Rose interrupted her. "That sounds like an Earth lullaby!” 

The nurse stopped singing with a look of surprise.

Rose explained: “The Doctor must have fixed the translation circuit!”

Calla’s face was pale. “You speak English?”

“Our ship translates,” Rose explained. “Only it malfunctioned when we arrived. You locked us in here before the Doctor could fix it.”

Calla wrung her hands. “When I saw you--you look so human,” she said. “I knew you could help.”

“I’m from Earth. The year 2008,” Rose said. “The Doctor travels in time.”

“Then you’re more human than we are,” Calla nodded, staring at her intently. 

“Is that why you need me to—” Rose looked down at the baby.

“There’s a sickness,” Calla said. “Mothers’ milk just dries up. They can’t nurse, or the children won’t drink it.”

“How long?”

“Two months, maybe more.” 

“The Doctor—he’ll find a cure,” Rose reassured her. 

“We never meant to hurt you, and we’d be grateful,” Calla said, “But understand, it’s not our way to rely on outsiders.”

Rose leaned forward, “The Doctor said this planet had amazing technology, so?“

“Here on New London Island, we’re simple,” Calla shook her head. “We modelled our society on First Earth.” 

“Earth wasn’t ever _simple,_ ” Rose said. 

Calla shrugged, “Out there, well, it’s all navigating with credit boxes, and the subway elevators, all in domed cities. First Earth was covered in steel and concrete, and our Earth Five’s devoured by all that tech, too.”

Rose nodded. Before she could answer, Samara walked in the room. “A good day on you,” she said, setting down a stack of fresh towels by the sink.

“Hello,” Rose said. Looking out at the hall, she noticed their guard had left his post, and she was alone with the two nurses. 

Samara saw Rose’s look. “I came to say the Doctor’s on his way. I sent Arshad to meet him, and tell the others.”

“Thank God,” Rose said, almost to herself. 

“So glad we can talk now,” Samara said, coming over to her side. “Rose, I’m so sorry--we never wanted to hurt you.”

“We did what we must,” Calla said, wringing her hands together. “And Rose is helping us.”

“Where else could I go?” Rose asked. “To be caught like a prisoner in the hallway?” 

Calla bit her lip. “You weren’t ever a prisoner--”

But Rose interrupted her. “The Doctor and I travel to help people—not as slaves to people who can’t help themselves.”

Rose pulled the baby away from her body. She couldn’t milk now, when she was suddenly angry, remembering how they’d forced her into the machines, helpless and in pain. 

Samara, seeing this, reached down and took the bundle from her. “It’s all right.” She bounced the baby in her arms. “Rose, the way your ship landed here was like a miracle,” she said, pacing around the room with the child. “Fifty years ago, our ancestors blocked our networks and blew up our ships.”

“D’you mean there was a war?”

“A ceremony,” Calla said. “They meant to protect us. They wanted us to stop contaminating and changing ourselves with machines and new things.”

“But we’re stuck now. Been on our own ever since,” said Samara. “Can’t phone, can’t broadcast, can’t mail out to the rest of the planet for help.”

“That’s not the problem,” Calla said. “The problem is this sickness!”

“So what are you going to do?” Rose looked back and forth between them. “Kidnap aliens to feed your kids?”

“Two choices,” said a familiar voice at the door. “You adapt. Or die.”

“Doctor!” Rose rushed out of bed and over to hug him. He wore a clean jumper and trousers, and he looked brilliant. He lifted her up and swung her around. “Miss me?” he beamed. 

He smelled clean and comforting. She squeezed her arms around him, with a sudden rush of sadness. “Oh yes!” She pressed her face into his jacket with a sob she couldn’t control, and clutched his waist.

“Hey!” he said, patting her back. “All right there?”

Rose pulled away, trying to wipe off the tears that had jumped into her eyes. “Sure, Doctor,” she sniffed. 

“Probably hormones,” Samara said. “She’ll be fine.” 

“It’s not hormones,” Rose protested.

Samara had thrust the baby into Calla’s arms, and reached out to the Doctor. 

“Doctor,” she nodded. She ran a hand along his wrist in a caress that looked to Rose too much like intimacy. 

“Samara,” he said. He held her hand for a beat too long, and Rose just stood there, wiping her face, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. But he pulled away—probably too aware Rose was watching. “Right then,” he said, breezing by them into the room. “I understand there’s a sickness? That affects new mothers?”

“Doctor—you are a Doctor?” said Samara, following him with her eyes. “Can you treat this?” 

“You’ve bigger problems, from the sounds of things. You’re isolated here. You’re like Luddites.” He enunciated the word dramatically--as if he were calling them stupid apes.

“Yeah,” Rose added. “It’s like the third world, here, mixed with Guantanamo.”

“Right, Rose. Except it’s self-inflicted,” said the Doctor. “The elders might have blocked your networks to protect you,” he told Calla, “but it backfired.” 

“There was a ceremony,” Calla said, “for the independence of New London Island.”

“Independence from the United Continents?” said the Doctor. “Whatever for?”

“From the false idols of progress and technology.” Calla said. “To continue as we were, they said, would be sin. Would be our downfall.” 

“There’s a computer in the hall,” Rose remembered. “Doctor, think you can hack through to the network?”

“Should do,” the Doctor nodded. “Show me.”

Rose led the way, and Doctor and nurses trailed behind her into the corridor. Calla bounced the baby in her arms, watching curiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little lyric goes to the tune of "Hush little baby," or "Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird."


	9. Chapter 9

The Doctor leaned over the desk and blasted the computer with his screwdriver. It flickered to life with a terminal screen, scrolling with a stream of words and code. For a moment he watched it pass by then spoke. “Earth 5 Central is still collecting information about New London Island," he explained. “You’re still tapping the global network.”

“We’re still linked?” asked Samara, surprised.

Rose said, “Can you get information from the rest of the planet?”

“Just going to open some more ports. Maybe set up a firewall so the other continents stop scanning you.” He flashed a grin. “I’m a computer genius!” 

“Thought you just had a magic screwdriver,” Rose said under her breath.

The Doctor winked at her. “I’m going to put the whole planet at your fingertips. All satellite broadcasts. Might be a bit of a culture shock.”

“But even if we do link in,” Calla protested. “We won’t understand how to read it. It’s like another language.”

“Oh!” smiled the Doctor. “You’ll learn quick enough. At least your friend here will.”

Samara flushed and brushed his arm. “Do my best.” She grinned.

He raised an eyebrow at her, almost suggestively—and then his face dropped back into concentration, and he leaned over, blasting the screen with his screwdriver. They all watched as the map showing New London Island expanded to show the planet and its five major continents. Dots on the screen glowed. 

The Doctor pressed various icons. The screen whizzed through different maps: topography, political boundaries, businesses, volcano sites and waterways, and the mycelia electrical networks.

Calla turned away. “That’s making me dizzy!”

“A whole world of volcanoes that will never explode,” the Doctor said. “And here you are. You couldn’t even see the map--but everything you have runs through that network.”

“Of course,” Samara said. “We’ve always taken that for granted, I guess.”

He grinned, shaking his head in a kind of awe. “And, never any downtime.”

Rose stared at Samara. “But don’t you understand—that’s amazing! Organic electricity powering all these machines?”

The Doctor pressed one more button, and another system appeared. “The medical database,” he said, and scrolled through a list. 

“What’s that?” Calla asked, trying to see. 

“Directories of physicians and hospitals. Databases on pathologies and plagues. Research on health conditions and treatments.”

He pressed a button. “Maps of current disease outbreaks by region and time.”

“All of that?” Samara asked. “For the whole planet?”

“It’s all here. Just press the buttons,” he said. “If you don’t find what you want, try again. Nothing could be easier.”

“But it’s not easy!” Calla said. “We promised, on our elders’ graves. We vowed to work within our community, not alienate ourselves on a network.” 

The Doctor shook his head. “You have one of the most advanced systems in the universe, a network growing in the crust of your planet--and you only want to talk to the person right next to you?”

Samara looked at Calla, and put a hand on her arm. “We need to talk to them,” she said, pointing to the screen listing medical professionals across the globe. “We need to know what they know.”

“It’s not our way,” Calla said, her voice small. She looked at the screen. 

“Well, it will be. Doctor,” Samara said, whirling to face him. “We can’t just figure this system out overnight, on our own. We need to talk to them in person if we hope to cure our disease.”

The Doctor nodded. “Want a ride?”

“Is it safe?” Calla spoke up.

“Absolutely safe," he said, sounding surprised. "This planet’s a grand adventure for another thousand years.”

Samara turned and pulled Calla aside. “I have to go. It’s the only way.”

Rose pulled on the Doctor’s arm. “Hold on,” she said quietly. “You said another thousand years. What happens after that?”

The Doctor shot her a dark look. “Doesn’t matter, not to them.”

“But Doctor—“

“What do you think?” he muttered angrily. “Another war, some megalomaniac, another explosion—what always happens.”

Rose shivered and looked over at Calla and Samara talking on the other side of the room.

“You can’t just go off and leave everyone here.” Calla’s voice was raised, her tone alarmed. “What will they do till you come back?”

“They’re all our people, too, out there,” Samara answered. “We need them to help us. You could come with me.”

“I’m needed here!” 

She bounced the baby, and Samara reached in to stroke its head. “I know,” she said.

“One more thing I can do, before we leave,” the Doctor said, turning to Samara. “It’s only temporary. It may not work at all.”

“What’s that, then?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Just hold still. Need to examine you.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sonic screwdriver and scanned them both. “Have either of you had this sickness?”

Samara and Calla looked at each other. Samara nodded. “Yes.”

“I just assumed I’m infected,” Calla said. "We're always around the mothers."

The Doctor nodded. “This may just work then. Samara, over here.” He took Samara’s arm and led her to the corner. He leaned close and whispered in her ear. 

Rose watched with an unreasonable surge of jealousy in her gut as they leaned in together, the Doctor whispering and Samara nodding.

“What’s he doing?” Calla asked in a tone that made Rose wonder if she was feeling the same.

Rose just shrugged. “We’ll find out when we need to.” She had to remind herself—she trusted the Doctor. And she had to make sure Calla trusted him too.

“Calla?” The Doctor was looking over to them. “I’ll need you to come with us to the other room.”

Calla nodded. “Rose, it’d be best if you stay here and take the baby.”

Rose swallowed and let Calla foist the infant once more into her arms. She watched as the Doctor led the nurses to the other room. “Here we are again,” she told the child as it grasped for her breast.


	10. Chapter 10

The Doctor let Samara lead Calla into the room and stood off to one side, partly guarding the hallway, and adjusted the dial on his screwdriver, while Samara sat Calla down on a chair and began to explain. 

“The Doctor says we can cure you for a while, and you can nurse the children.” She looked over to the Doctor, and he handed her the screwdriver. She turned it in her hands and looked up to Calla. “Just open your robe. He says it won’t hurt.”

Calla looked back and forth between the screwdriver and the Doctor. He tried to look like he wasn’t watching—but he needed to make sure they didn’t blow anything up. They had no idea what a sonic device could do, and some of the results weren't pretty. 

Samara helped Calla undo her belt and pull the fabric of her robe aside. She pressed the tip of the screwdriver against Calla’s breast. The whirr of it echoed through the room, and Samara rubbed soft circles around Calla’s nipples. 

Calla gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” Samara murmured. “Doctor says it shouldn’t take long. First one side, then the other.”

Calla’s eyes darted off to the Doctor, noticing how his arms were crossed, and he looked uncomfortable. 

He noted her increased intake of breath and sudden flush in her cheeks. The whirr of the screwdriver continued a few minutes, with Calla and Samara whispering back and forth in a tone too soft for him to hear.

“Can’t bear it any longer,” Calla finally said. 

Samara brushed hair out of Calla’s face. “Just remember, this is what _she_ felt.”

Calla moaned. “I know. I know.”

A minute or so ticked by. “That’s enough,” the Doctor finally said, his voice low. “Switch, please.”

Calla’s whole body shuddered as Samara released the button, and the whirring ceased. Samara moved her hand over to the other side, and the whirring and rubbing started against Calla’s other breast. 

“Just lean back, Calla,” Samara suggested, and Calla leaned back to rest on the chair with her eyes closed. The Doctor turned his face to watch her. He saw how gentle Samara was with her, as she rolled the screwdriver around Calla’s nipple, caressing her thigh in soft strokes of her other hand. 

He’d have to clean that tool carefully, he thought. He could smell both of them, their arousal, their slight fear. It was tangy, almost sour, nothing like Rose’s smell. 

He watched as Calla shivered, as Samara dipped her fingers higher into Calla’s robes, between her legs. 

“Give her at least two more minutes,” the Doctor said, quietly. “I’ll be out with Rose.”

Samara’s slight jump, and the “Oh!” Calla uttered told him they had both forgotten he was in the room.

He stood in the corridor for a minute, letting his body settle down, and considering the next steps.

Rose looked up at him as he walked in. Her mascara was streaked, her face damp, and her eyes red. He put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be leaving soon, I promise.”

She nodded. 

He crossed his arms. “What do you think? We could keep you milking and have a constant supply. No more of these grocery trips back to Earth.”

Rose looked at him in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“’Course not, Rose. Once we’re back on the Tardis, I’ll make it stop. Won’t hurt a bit.”

She nodded, trying to wipe tears from her cheeks without disturbing the infant in her arms. The Doctor rubbed a hand on her back, comforting her, and she leaned against him. 

“Sorry, Doctor, I’m knackered.” She let her eyes close. She could almost sleep right now, this way, the baby warm on her chest and the Doctor propping her up.

But a voice woke her up again. “Good day!” It was Arshad, stepping in the room. “Hello, the Doctor, and Rose.”

The Doctor nodded. “Hello again. Come see--your network’s up and running again. All this information at your fingertips!” 

Arshad came over, and the Doctor began walking him through the maps and databases. He laughed in delight as they scrolled through the options. “It’s brilliant! I knew it would be.”

“Wait till you get the upgrade,” said the Doctor. 

“I’ve been fighting for years, just for this. Oh, the administration in the community’s blinkered, I tell you. All the bickering and referendums.”

Rose grimaced.

“But we’ve gone ahead without the council,” he continued. “Won’t they be cheesed off!” He turned away from the screen and grasped Rose’s elbows, grinning like a mad fool. 

She couldn’t help but smile back, his enthusiasm contagious.

Then he turned to the Doctor with a huge clap on the back. “Too late. Doctor, you’ve saved us all from our worst enemies—ourselves, and our grandfathers.” He peered in the Doctor’s old eyes. “Old men, they’re fools. Never trust an old man. Present company excepted, of course. Blimey, you are old, aren’t you?”

The Doctor stepped away. “Show Calla how this works? She’s a sceptic, that one.”

“She’ll come ‘round,” Arshad said. “This plague broke her heart more than anyone.” He gripped Rose’s arm. “Forgive her.” 

Rose nodded. She pulled away from his grip—remembering how he’d grabbed her arm in the hall. 

“Forgive me, too,” he said, so low the Doctor couldn’t have heard. 

"Yeah," Rose agreed.

The Doctor was still frowning at the computer screen. “It’s getting late over there, on the other side of the planet, isn’t it?”

Arshad looked over. “Should be. Time to go? I won’t keep you.”

The Doctor nodded, just as Samara and Calla walked in the room. They both looked flushed.

The Doctor walked over to Samara. “It’s time,” he said. “You won’t need to bring anything.”

She smiled, and handed him the screwdriver, which he tucked in his coat pocket. “It’s worked, Doctor. And, I’m ready.”

Calla took the baby from Rose, and then looked back and forth between Samara and the Doctor. “You can’t,” she said to Samara in a voice near panic. “If you go, you’ll never come back.”

“’Course I will,” Samara murmured.

Calla looked around, like she was trying to find a reason to keep Samara there. Her eyes settled on Rose. “Rose. What did you leave behind, to travel with the Doctor?”

Rose blinked. “My mum. And Mickey and my cousins. I can still visit them.”

“But you’ll never go back, will you?”

Rose looked at the Doctor, biting her lip. “I can’t leave him,” she shook her head. “I’m all he’s got.”

Calla nodded. She turned her eyes back to Samara. “I need to stay here, and care for our family. If you have to, then go.”

“You know I do,” Samara answered, reaching out to squeeze her elbow. “I’m coming back with a cure. As soon as I can. Wait for me?”

“Always.” Calla nodded. “Good luck.”

Samara grinned. “You’re such a martyr.”

“Don’t be cruel.” Calla’s eyes were full of tears.

Samara leaned forward to hug her. “I’ll see you soon, Calla.”

“Come on then. Time’s a wasting,” the Doctor cut in. 

“Doctor,” Rose tried to elbow him, trying to shut him up and let the women say their farewells.

He just shot her an annoyed look and walked down the corridor.

Samara broke apart from Calla. She hugged Arshad. “Brother, goodbye,” she said, and then she followed the Doctor down the corridor.

Arshad stepped over and wrapped an arm around Calla’s shoulders. “You’ll see, little sister. Things will get better.”

“She loves you,” Rose said to Calla, giving her a brief hug. 

“I’m sorry for the way things were.” Calla nodded, biting her lip. “Safe passage, Rose. And, thank you.”

“Goodbye.” Rose smiled at the baby, then followed the Doctor and Samara out to the Tardis. 

The Doctor led Samara around the blue box, then inside, and she clapped her hands. “Oh, it’s beautiful!” 

“Bigger on the inside,” Rose grinned.

“It’s like the hospital,” Samara smiled. “Deceptive.”

Rose's eyes widened. “That explains the long corridors.”

“You didn’t even notice.” Samara smiled with a twinkle in her eye. “We’ve made some advances in the last five billion years. You didn’t think our island was _just_ like First Earth, did you?”


	11. Chapter 11

“Even when you’re trying to live in the past, the future keeps getting in the way,” the Doctor said, pulling levers on the Tardis as they prepared to leave. 

“We aren’t travelling in time, are we?” Samara said, anxiously.

“Oh, no!” the Doctor answered. “Your future’s been here all along, waiting for you. We’re just moving a little ways to the left!” He took Rose’s hand and pulled her toward him as the ship launched. Rose grinned up at him, aware of the glint in his eyes. 

“We often overlook what’s right in front of our eyes,” he said.

The Tardis landed again, before she had time to respond, and Rose gripped his arm to prevent herself from falling. She laughed hysterically, and the Doctor laughed too. 

“And now, here we are,” he said as they all regained their balance. 

“Does it always do that?” asked Samara.

“Very nearly,” said Rose. As the Doctor strolled to the door, Rose told her, “I think he makes us tumble about on purpose.”

“Go on, Samara,” called the Doctor from the doorway. “Step outside! The continent of Newest America. Well, Ameri-eurasia, attached to Australia Minor.”

A blazing heat seared their shoulders as they set foot on the planet, and they blinked and squinted into the late afternoon. Sunlight reflected off of domed buildings all around them. 

“We’re in the District of Newer Columbia. And right there,” said the Doctor, pointing to an expanse of buildings, “is the Greater Medical Institute of the United Continents.” 

“Medical institute?” Samara echoed. 

“Almost a city in itself,” he said. “World-class university, research facility, and hospital. Celebrities are flown in to get treatment from all over the galaxy.”

Samara pressed her hands to her mouth. “It’s marvellous.”

The Doctor grinned. “One more thing.” He ran off.

Rose took Samara’s hand. “It’s what he does. Come on.” They ran to follow him.

The Doctor stopped in front of a screen embedded in a building and scanned it with his screwdriver. It spat out a small cube into a little dispenser, and the Doctor pulled it out and turned it. The cube caught the light, reflecting writing and circles along its sides with a golden shine. “Put that in your mouth,” he told Samara. 

“Is it food?” frowned Samara. 

“No, no. Just hold it on your tongue. Then pull it out slowly,” the Doctor instructed.

Samara made a face at the flavour, then pulled it out of her mouth.

“Saliva imprint,” said the Doctor. “Now it knows you.” As they looked at it, a hologram of Samara appeared and hovered above the card. It was perhaps five centimetres tall, like a doll version of her. “Your identification and credit,” the Doctor told her. “You can buy anything you need. Go, find out who you are here.”

“But how do I—”

“You’ve just got to do it,” Rose told her. “Just explore and discover everything.”

“Won’t you come with me?” Samara asked. 

The Doctor shook his head. “Time to be moving on.” 

“We’re just travellers. I’ve got to get home, sometime,” Rose said. “Visit me mum.”

“Thank you then, for your kindness,” said Samara. “We’ll never forget you.” 

Rose nodded. “I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” She squeezed Samara’s hand, then it was the Doctor’s turn to say goodbye. 

He stepped forward. “I won’t forget you, either,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. She didn’t move. He kissed her mouth.

Rose felt panic swelled up in her stomach, watching them. The lump in her throat made it impossible to swallow. She grasped the side of the Tardis.

The Doctor was murmuring in Samara’s ear, and she blushed furiously but didn’t move. Rose thought the words sounded like the Gallifreyan he’d called, earlier, while bound up in the hospital. 

When he pulled away, Samara didn’t take her eyes off him. He didn’t look at Rose as he climbed back in the Tardis.

“G’bye,” Rose told Samara. 

Then Rose rushed back into the Tardis and shut the door. She took hold of the railing on the other side of the Tardis console. She frowned at the Doctor—he was furiously pressing buttons, yanking strings, and pulling levers. “That’s it—you’re just leaving her, then?”

“Let’s go,” said the Doctor, his voice husky. “We’ve done enough.” With its typical screeching, the Tardis dematerialized and lurched back into the Time Vortex.

Rose held the railing until they stabilized. “It’s not like you to leave before the problem’s solved,” she said.

The Doctor frowned at his monitor screen. “After what they’ve done, Rose, did you really want to stick around?”

“Not exactly.” Rose bit her lip and clutched the railing. Her robe was dirty, and her breasts still heavy with milk. “Doctor?” She hesitated and put her hand on his arm.

He stood up and pulled her into an embrace. “Your mum is right. I am dangerous for you.”

“When are you going to learn, it’s not your fault?” she said, tightening her arms around him.

“That’s not the point,” he said. He pulled away to look at her, and she felt his blue eyes boring through hers. 

“Doctor,” she said, uncomfortably. “I’d best clean up.”

He leaned forward and moved to kiss her. Rose turned away, so his lips landed on her cheek. She pulled away.

“Don’t tell me that was nothing,” she said. “You and Samara.” 

“No,” he said. “You know what that was. You were there.”

Rose pulled away. “But I don’t.”

The Doctor broke his gaze and looked back at the console, his jaw clenching. But as angry as he looked, his voice was quiet. “More physical than I’ve had in a long time.” 

She felt like she should go to him—he seemed so vulnerable--but she couldn’t move. “I--I need a shower,” she said finally. 

“Take as much time as you need.” His voice was still dark and his knuckles white, clutching the Tardis. He stared forward at the console.

“Doctor?”

“Rose. Just go.”

She turned around and rushed down the hall, feeling overwhelmed. So, she’d hurt him, too. The panic was releasing itself, in little sobs in her throat, and tears splashing on her cheeks. She shut the door quickly behind her in the shower, and leaned against it. Steam began to cover her, fogging up the mirrors, like a caress on her aching muscles. 

She leaned against the wall and sobbed, finally letting herself cry properly. She wondered if he was doing the same.


	12. Chapter 12

Rose emerged from her quarters later in a comfortable skirt and the baggiest jumper she had. Layers, actually. None of her bras fit. Her breasts were swollen and still leaking. She wore a camisole to hold them in and a thermal over that, then her customary T-shirt, and the jumper to hide it all.

The Doctor was in the console room, tinkering on the Tardis. “Just finishing the last repairs,” he said. “She’ll be right as rain, with a new backup circuit for her translator and a linguistic stabilizer.”

Rose plunked herself down on the stool and frowned at the floor. 

The Doctor pulled himself up and looked at her. His face was streaked with black grease smudges, and he wore a pair of overalls she’d never seen, also dirty. But his pile of tools surrounded him, and he was in his element, with a satisfied look on his face. His giant ears glowed in the light of the Tardis, and if she felt any better, she might have laughed. 

His smile turned to concern as he saw her. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. She felt too drained to try and smile. She ached all over. 

“Right then,” said the Doctor. “I know what you need.”

“Don’t say a cup of tea,” said Rose, feeling tears fill her eyes. 

The Doctor shook his head. “Do I look like your mum?”

She looked up at him, finally, the little grin playing around his face. She couldn’t return it. She wished it _were_ her mum, offering her a nice cup of tea, seated at their little table—all safe and warm on a completely insignificant day in their completely insignificant flat. After tea, they could just go out for chips and she’d listen to her mum rattle on about nothing.

“Come on, now.” The Doctor reached out a hand to her. “We’ll set you right again, Rose.”

She just looked at him, until he settled his palm around her arm. She let him pull her from the chair and guide her upstairs to the sick bay. He sat her down, then fiddled in the cupboards. Finally, he handed her a pill. 

“Paracetamol?” she asked, looking at it.

The Doctor grimaced. “Oh, no, not that dangerous,” he said. “It’s a stimulant and nutritional re-activator.”

“A what?”

“Helps you recover from post-natal depression.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not depressed.”

An impatient grunt escaped his throat. “Just swallow the bloody pill.”

“Fine.” He handed her a glass of water, and she gulped the pill down. 

“Sit here a bit,” he said. “Relax. Let me get cleaned up. Shouldn’t be a tick.” He dipped down and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Take all those layers off and put on a medical robe from that cabinet. Ties in the front.”

She nodded. Then he left her alone in the room. She grumbled, looking through the cabinets. It wasn’t like him to ask her to wear anything special, to play as if he was a real 21st century medical Doctor.

But finally she found the gown, with little blue asterisks dotting a white background, and tied it in the front as he requested. She folded her clothes neatly on the table, then sat back down and waited. She didn’t care if it took a while; she didn’t want to move anyhow. The Tardis always regulated the temperature, so she didn’t feel cold—just all too aware of her skin, so bare underneath the thin fabric.

The Doctor returned, dressed in his regular trousers and a black T-shirt. His face was cleaned up, just a smudge of black streaking his chin. He sat down next to her, pulling the screwdriver from his pocket, and she resisted her urge to lean over and wipe off the smudge.

“For my next trick,” he said, looking down at the screwdriver in his hands, “let’s stop your milk flow. I can’t have you leaking all over my Tardis now, can I?” He tried a smile, and dared glance up at her face, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“What are you going to do?” she said, close to tears.

He flicked his thumb along the screwdriver, changing the setting. “It’s a dual treatment,” he said. “Need to get in your head a little bit, to dampen the pituitary response, and then reverse the lactation reaction.”

She stared at him, “You’re not going to—“

He handed the screwdriver to her. “Rose Tyler,” he said. “I wouldn’t do anything without your permission.”

She nodded. 

He leaned in. “I’m going to rest my hand on your neck. It’s just a slight wave of telepathy—just like a little hypnosis to adjust the endocrine and reproductive systems.”

She nodded. 

He swallowed and looked at her, as if he didn’t want to continue. “You can do this part. Press the button and rub the tip against your chest. It’s painless--should ease the pressure, actually. I won’t look.”

She let him place it in her hands, feeling their fingers brush. She wanted to lean into his skin. He felt cool, comforting.

“You’re safe now,” he said. “Trust me?”

She turned the screwdriver in her hands and licked her lip. Finally she looked up at him. “I trust you. I want you to do it,” she said. “Please just--get this done.”

He nodded. “All right.” He reached up, and put his hands gently on her neck. His hands felt steady and cool. 

He closed his eyes, and she watched his face, calm and concentrated. She felt a ball of energy build slowly in her rib cage. Her spine tingled. She wanted to wrench herself away, but she stayed stone still.

His eyes fluttered open, and he flicked on the screwdriver. He started rubbing light circles against her shoulders with it, like a light massage, and then caressing her, down her sternum.

Then he paused. “Okay, Rose?”

She shut her eyes. “Yeah.” He moved down, stroking circles on her breasts, inwards toward her areola. She shuddered as he brushed a nipple, and a moan escaped her throat. 

He paused again. “All right?”

“Yeah.”

“It won’t take long,” he murmured. “Say if you need me to stop.”

She opened his eyes and watched him. His eyes were dilated, his cheeks flushed. He wasn’t used to treating women like this, she knew. Not used to touching her either, not this way. 

Watching his concentration, feeling his hand slide down from her neck, running along her arm, and finally resting against her knee, she suddenly felt aroused. The hospital gown, his careful explanation—all designed to keep things clinical and safe. But it hadn’t worked for him—now it wasn’t working for her either. The sensation sent a tingle through her belly and downward, and she shifted her hips. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. She clutched at his knee with her hand. 

He shifted his weight and moved his arm to her other nipple. She moaned as the tingling sensation started up there and the sonic echoed around the room. 

Her hand went to the side he had finished, to test herself. She was leaking milk, still sore, but it was already caking against her, drying up. 

“Rose?”

“Yeah?”

His hand was sliding up her thigh. “Do you want this?” His breath was soft against her shoulder. His eyes were on her, his nostrils flaring. She shivered.

God, he could smell her. He could smell when she was aroused, smell when her body reacted to his. His hand was cool on her thigh, inching closer to her crevice. 

She wasn’t sure she wanted it, but her body did. There was no fighting or pretending otherwise. She slid her hips forward against his hand, and reached down to pull his wrist further against her. 

“Yeah, Doctor. Want this.”

He pushed his fingers against her wet slit. “This?”

She opened her legs, letting him brush his fingers back and forth against her. She moaned in relief as his fingers stroked her. 

“Anything you need,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. 

“Just get it done,” she told him. Her voice was raspy and low. She tried to clear her throat.

He slid a finger inside her, up and up into the spot that made her push her hips against him, and let her breath out in a soft moan. “Yeah, Doctor.” 

She felt her face flush, felt herself grow warmer, and felt the rush deep in her belly as she flooded with wetness. He slowly pushed his fingers in and out, and she rocked against him. He finally stopped the screwdriver and set it aside. But his hand returned to her breast, tugging her nipple, and his mouth found hers. 

His lips were soft, his tongue gently opening her mouth and exploring. She let him flick his tongue against her teeth and nibble at her lip.

She felt sweaty and feverish, and he was cool and clammy against her. She pulled her lips away and tried to pull his hand deeper inside. “Get it done, Doctor.”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, understanding this wasn’t going to be love-making or intimacy. “All right, Rose.” His fingers sped up, and he pushed more inside her, hitting the centre of her. Her inner muscles clamped around him. 

“It’s good,” she breathed. “Oh, fuck, it’s good.”

“Anything you want, Rose,” he said, his fingers pushing a rhythm into her body, his other hand still working at her nipples. 

Her breath came in grunts, and she clutched his neck as he pressed his lips against hers, mashing their mouths together and trying to get her to kiss him. She sucked on his lip and bucked uncontrollably against him.

“Don’t ever stop,” she groaned. And in that moment, instead of wanting it over, she wanted it to go on forever. She had been waiting so long for him. Now here he was, offering her anything she wanted. All she wanted was this.

She opened her mouth, shoved her tongue into his mouth, and let him suck on it and rub his tongue against her own. She felt herself spasm, felt wetness rush out from her thighs onto his wrists, and felt his smile against her with his warm breath as she groaned. 

“Good girl,” he whispered. 

She let the rush wash over her, throwing her head back. “Coming, Doctor,” she moaned, arching her back and pushing against him, until his fingers were forcibly pushed from her, and her body was floating, and she had nothing more left. 

She shut her eyes and sank into the relief flooding her body. He gently lifted his hands, and she was on her own again. She heard water splash in the sink as he washed up; felt as he rubbed a rough, wet cloth against her thighs and breasts, cleaning her off. But she kept her eyes closed, her body slack against the chair.

Rose fell into a void of sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Rose awoke in her own bed on the Tardis. The adventure on Earth 5 felt like a bad dream. 

Her cuts and bruises had healed, and her breasts felt normal again. She pulled on jeans, a tee, and a hoody, and brushed her hair. She looked around her room. It felt like home.

She looked at herself in the mirror. What would she say to the Doctor when she saw him? Would everything be too intimate, or too awkward?

Or worse, would the Doctor want to take her back to London? 

“No,” she mumbled. “He can’t!” She felt tears in her eyes and wondered if she was still just being over-emotional. 

There was only one way to find out what the Doctor would do—and that was to go find him. 

He knew her well, very well. She hoped he knew her well enough to realise nothing needed to change. They could go on as they had—friends, best mates--couldn't they?

The ship hummed around her, as she walked down to the kitchen for some tea. She found the Doctor already sitting at the table, a steaming mug in his hands.

“Morning!” she greeted him, trying to sound light-hearted. She pulled a mug from the cupboard.

He got up uncomfortably. “Want the kitchen to yourself?” He was hunched into his leather coat and shuffled by her like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

His movements brought it all rushing back to her—both of them stripped, attached to machines, straining at their bonds. Both in pain and painfully aroused. Watching Samara work him to climax, watching him whisper to Samara before leaving Earth 5. 

Rose’s mouth turned dry, and she felt sick. She slumped against the counter. Her mug clattered against the tile. “Oh.”

“I’ll be outside,” he said.

“What, so you’re just leaving?” Before he could squeeze out of the room, she reached out and grasped his hand. He half-turned back, but couldn’t look at her. 

“We did something good for those people,” she said. “Should be proud of that.”

“Yeah,” he answered, softly, squeezing her hand. “We did, didn’t we?” She saw a half-smile steal across his face.

He glanced at her. His eyes were so blue and had so many questions. 

“We’re okay?” she asked, swinging his hand around, giving him her shy half-smile, to show that she would put this all behind them, if he could.

He grinned. “If you think we are, then we’re fantastic!”

They moved together into a hug. She smelled him—musk and leather. It would only take a little movement to feel his stubble against her cheek, his mouth on hers.

They pulled away, but held onto each other, looking in each other’s eyes for a beat. He held her there a few seconds longer than normal. She flicked her lips with her tongue and saw his eyebrows jump. 

If she let his mouth brush hers, would he whisper in her ear, the way he’d spoken to Samara?

Rose turned back and cleared her throat, grabbing her mug. “More tea?” she asked brightly.

He pulled away, shaking his head. “Thanks, no.” He leaned against the table. “You still want to travel with me, then?”

“Yeah, Doctor,” she hesitated.

“You don’t want to go back to old-old, old-old, Original London?”

“Nope,” she grinned, looking in her cup. “Can’t get rid of me.”

He just grinned like an idiot, staring in his mug. “So here we are, Rose Tyler. You and me.”

“You and me, that’s right,” she laughed.

\---

She needed a few days to recover and feel at home in her body again. If she was going to give herself to him, it had to be just them, on their own, because they wanted to—not tinged with all the residual emotions from Earth 5.

She watched him, fiddling constantly under the Tardis, patching circuits. In between the trips they made for food, all his frustration and worry were being funnelled into the ship’s circuitry. 

She sat beneath the console with him, reading while he worked. She knew he was fixing things that had been broken for centuries, things that he’d jerry-rigged once and forgotten to fix properly later. He cursed and pulled things apart, then put them back together.

Because he never wanted it to break again. And because he had to do something with his fingers, if he wasn’t touching her. 

He was giving her space to figure out what to do next. She wondered how many hours of his life he’d spent patching circuits under the console, because he wanted to be touching a woman.

She kept reading. She hadn’t meant to keep pulling away from him. She could see right through him, and she knew he could see through her, too--sense her hormones, smell that she wanted him. 

Something had physiologically changed in her. She wasn’t sure when it started. A day or so after he’d put his hands on her neck and got into her head, her sense of smell heightened. She could smell him. He was like engine oil and burnt wires and musky sweat, as he worked on the Tardis all day. His pheromones made her breathless.

She could barely leave his side. She read beside him, almost too close by for him to work properly. He kept brushing against her. The rough hair on his forearm against her leg. The squeeze of his fingers on her ankle. His breath at her shoulder. 

“Hand me that spanner,” he’d say. Or, “Need those pliers, love.”

His voice was gentle, patient, but she could sense the anxiety, the urgency, in him--and his determination to ignore it, if it meant keeping her beside him.

She’d break away from _Bleak House_ and lean over to his tool box, sitting just outside of their little cubbyhole under the Tardis, to fetch whatever tool he asked for. She caught him once, watching her bum as she leaned over, one of his hands straying to her hip, and then he brushed her hand, as she handed him the pliers. 

“Thanks, love,” he said.

“Welcome,” she said, leaning back to her book.

There was no reason he couldn’t go for the tools himself. But they needed to play this game—needed to interact, without really talking. 

They pretended nothing was different at first. But later, she’d looked up to find him hovering beside her, spanner still in hand. He’d reached down with his other hand, settled against her knee, and leaned over, rubbing her shoulder.

“You’re driving me mad,” he told her. She leaned in and let him kiss her, his giant nose rubbing her cheek, and his tongue wandered across her lips. She wanted to climb into his lap—but instead she pulled away. 

“Sorry to distract you,” she said, and pulled herself out from under the Tardis. Her head was still too full of the machines, and the images from Earth 5.

“Wait.” He followed her, but she walked out of the room. “I’m sorry,” he called after her.

She could picture him still, as she walked down the corridor—standing uselessly by the Tardis, holding the spanner, his hands covered in grease, wishing he hadn’t said a damn thing.

She heard something clatter in the room behind her—maybe he’d thrown the spanner down on the grating--and he was cursing.

She lay in bed during the sleep cycle, letting her own hands wander over her body. All she could think of was the Doctor--she wanted him naked and needing her. She remembered the dark looks he’d given her. His guilt. His frustration. 

His reason for kissing Samara goodbye. “ _More physical than I’ve had in a long time_ ,” he’d said. 

His tongue on Rose’s lips. Did he want her, or did he just need to get laid?

Rose stroked herself gently, then roughly. She shoved her fingers deep inside, but she couldn’t make herself come.


	14. Chapter 14

Rose knew she’d kept him waiting long enough. He was practically a saint, the way she kept sitting with him, then leaving just as he tried to reach out to her.

After a day or two on the Tardis, they needed to get out and do something—anything. He took her to a planet just to look around and shop a bit. She caught him looking at jewelry and hats. Maybe he wanted to buy her something—but he didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. 

They just commented on the funny-looking things, and laughed together. Then they looked at tools. He found a new spanner and a soldering iron. She ran her fingers through the bins of gears and nails and things, and compared the spanners and screwdrivers to the tools he used. 

They wandered, then returned to the Tardis for some tea. He told her about his repairs, some of the planets he wanted to take her to, and she nodded and chewed on scones. 

Then he went to organize things in the console room, she went to her room to shower. After, she pulled a transparent slip over her head, put on some makeup, and brushed her hair. 

Her flip flops slapped at the grating as she walked down the corridor. He was working there in the Console room—he was always working—except that he wasn’t working. The Doctor was sitting down, his tools neatly put away in a box next to him, the wires all patched up, and he was staring at his hands.

He heard her coming and stood up. He took a step back.

She smiled down at him. “Doctor.”

“Rose!” he said. “Still up?”

“Done with the Tardis?”

He nodded. “Thinking of getting some sleep, actually.” He scratched his head, and she felt his eyes caress her.

“Not yet, I hope,” she smiled, and flicked her lips with her tongue.

“You look—“ he started. Then, “Are you sure you want to wear that?”

“Do you like it?” she turned around, let his eyes wander over her bum, then grinned back at him. “I can take it off, if you prefer.”

His eyes were wide, his mouth slack, and he turned away from her. “Put something on, Rose,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, as if telling her she’d just brought a dangerous alien on board the Tardis.

She reached out for his arm, and pulled him around to face her again. “I’m ready.”

“You’re what?”

She frowned. “You still want this?”

“’Course, Rose,” he stared at her. “You’re ready. Oh.” He licked his lips. “What’s changed?”

She reached up to grasp his neck and pull him down to kiss her. 

“Just needed some time,” she gasped out around their fevered kisses. “Ready now.” She pressed herself against him.

His hands wrapped around her waist, and he yanked her to him with a deep, wet kiss. Then he moved, pulling her with him and slamming her against one of the side struts of the Tardis, working his tongue deep in her mouth. 

She felt breathless. “Want you, Doctor.”

“Finally,” he growled. He worked the slip over her head. 

“Not fair,” she said, trying to push off his jacket. 

He pulled back, shrugging off the jacket and yanking the shirt over his head. He started to unbutton his trousers, but hesitated. “Not going to change your mind, are you?”

She moved to do it for him. “You ask me that again, and I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” 

She looked up at him. 

“You’ll do what, Rose?” His voice was strong now, almost angry.

“Find a way to shut you up.” And she kissed him. He pressed up against her, kicking off the trousers and his pants in one go. She felt him hard against her belly.

She reached down and held his hips, ran her hands over his bum, and he ran his hands over her breasts, her belly, her thighs like he needed to feel all of her at once. 

His mouth worked his way down her neck, over her breasts, and he kneeled down, easing her knees apart. He kissed her thigh, looking up at her, and she turned his face with her hand until his mouth was between her legs. 

She squatted further down, pressing into him. He reached out, flicking her wet clit with the tip of his tongue, until she was moaning. 

“Oh. Oh, Doctor!”

“Yeah, Rose?” he said, a twinkle in his eye.

“Button it!” she answered, squatting down further and sitting in his mouth. She felt him chuckle against her, sending waves through her body. She moaned and rocked against him. 

He flicked his tongue on her clit and worked a hand between her legs, sliding a finger inside her. He moved slowly at first, then faster as she grew wet and slippery. 

She whimpered and shoved her hips against him, clutching the back of his head as she thrust around him. 

“It’s amazing,” she moaned. “Not so fast.”

He grunted against her, and she understood—he wanted her to come, and fast. 

“Okay,” she murmured her consent. “Do this your way.”

She looked up at the beautiful ceiling of the Tardis, the soft lights and organic struts growing out of the ship, and she reached an arm behind her head to clutch at the strut against her back. 

The Doctor kept licking her, and yanking her clit with his teeth. His fingers thrust hard into her, and she moaned.

“Doctor, yes.”

He sped up, rhythmically pushing into her as she started to shriek and writhe. 

“Don’t stop. Just don’t. Oh yes. Yes, yes!” 

He moved his face away from her as she stilled, his fingers still buried in her to the knuckles. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth wet, and he looked dazed. 

She slid down the strut to sit beside him, and he slid his fingers free. 

“Let me,” she said, and took them in her mouth, sucking his fingertips and licking off her own juices. He watched her, but his face was too serious. 

When she finished, she leaned in and kissed him, letting her hand slide down his torso, over the firm muscles of his pecs, and down the smooth part of his belly. She twirled her fingers in the hairs below his navel till he groaned in her mouth. 

“Stop teasing. Are we doing this or not?”

His cock twitched under her. She stroked him lightly, up and down his shaft, until he moaned in earnest. 

“You better believe we are,” she said. 

She reached down and ran her tongue across his shaft, up and down, and took him in her mouth. She yanked at the hair around his cock, and he twitched and groaned as she sucked on him. 

“Oh, fuck. Rose.” 

Then, she moved her hand down to stroke and pull gently at his balls, as she licked circles at the tip of his cock with just the tip of her tongue. 

He was murmuring her name, and cursing, and moaning. He thrust against her with his hips, watching her. She moved faster, her hand stroking from the base of his cock, then took him back in her mouth. 

“Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes,” he called. 

She felt him thrusting against her gently, trying to control his own movements. His cock twitched, and he moaned louder as she moved faster and faster around him. 

Then he pulled away. “Not yet, Rose.” 

He smiled finally and pulled her up toward him. She climbed across him, and let him pull her mouth against his, reaching his tongue out into her mouth as they kissed. He ran his hands down her, pulled on her nipples, and reached between her legs again. She groaned into his mouth as he stroked her clit again. 

She sat up and straddled him, holding him right under her cunt and sinking down around him. His hands brushed against her lower back, pulling her toward him, and he shifted around so he could lean against the strut this time. 

He looked up at her, watching her hair falling around her shoulders, her breasts bouncing gently, her stomach tilting toward him as she thrust around his cock. His hands settled on her arse, clutching her hips. 

They moaned in unison, each thrust echoing through the Tardis. She pressed against him, controlling the movement, making sure he hit just the right spot each time. They moved faster and faster, until she was sure she would come soon. 

She had her head back, moaning, calling his name. Suddenly he clutched at her. “Wait,” he panted. “Rose. Wait. Stop.”

She stopped, looking at him. His eyes were wild. She felt her internal muscles squeeze around him involuntarily. It was too much for him—he thrust against her uncontrollably, his face contorted. He groaned as he came, grunting her name, and she felt him spurt up into her, warm and wet. 

“Fuck, Rose, yes, fuck yes!” A string of expletives, and then he was staring up at her, moaning unintelligibly. Gallifreyan. He was speaking to her in Gallifreyan, just the way he had to Samara. 

He must have seen her look because as his body quieted, he murmured, “It’s just you, Rose. Always been you.”

He kept a hand on her hip and his other hand moved down, his thumb going to work against her clit. He wrapped his lips around her nipple, flicking with his tongue. 

And to her surprise, he didn’t go soft underneath her, he just kept thrusting into her, hard and solid. He regained control, moving more rhythmically, as he worked against her.

“Doctor?” she panted.

He looked up at her. “I look human,” he said. “But Time Lords—multiple orgasms, when I want to.”

Her eyes widened.

He grinned. “Like you, Rose. Like human females.”

“God, yes!” She leaned down and kissed him, pulling his face toward her with her hands, rubbing her palms against his rough cheeks. “Make love to me all night?”

“Oh yes, Rose Tyler,” he said, thrusting up against her in such a way that she couldn’t keep eye contact with him anymore. She just threw her head back and moaned. “All night. Anything you need.”

She pulled his fingers up to her breasts. “Rub my nipples, Doctor. Don’t stop. Like those machines. I want to come properly like that.”

He groaned, and started to tug at her nipples. “Anything you need,” he repeated, near a whisper.


End file.
